


The Islands at the Center of the World, and Four People Who Live on Them

by sainttea



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016), The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bisexuality, Co-Written, Crossover, F/F, Fluff, Homophobia, Homosexuality, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misogyny, New York City, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Friendship, Underage Drinking, University, main characters are amalgamations of both the fictional characters and the people who portray them, steve and robin are musicians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26684881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sainttea/pseuds/sainttea
Summary: robin buckley, steve harrington, clarke griffin, and lexa woods all live in new york city. a tale of day and night, of love and loss, of bravery and fear, and of all the things that make us human.cowritten by me and an anon friend of mine
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley/Original Female Character(s), Steve Harrington/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	1. Far From Home

**Author's Note:**

> hello there :)
> 
> we hope you enjoy the first chapter of our story.
> 
> please don't bully us lmao.
> 
> \- sainttea

Clarke has been waiting on her bags for half an hour now, and every second builds on her anxiety. She had only traveled out of Australia two times in her life, with this being the second one. The first time was when she went on a family vacation to New Zealand when she was 7, and they had ended up losing her bag in transit. It is the memory of her missing art supplies which has her dashing around belt 5 of the JFK International Airport's baggage claim area.

She also takes note of the group of Chilean university students who have also been waiting at the belt for as long as she has. Their expressions and mannerisms are mostly unworried, however. She imagines that they're used to waits like this, and in any case have the comfort of each other to abide in. After a few moments of distant observation, she realizes that her luggage has appeared on the conveyor belt, and was beginning to orbit slowly. She rushed out to get her hands on it.

In order to enter the United States, Australian citizens have to apply for a visa waiver under the Electronic System for Travel Authorization, which takes 20 minutes to complete and costs about 15 dollars. While it had asked her some unexpected questions (such as if she had ever been convicted for war crimes) it was a harmless process. Even from her position, she knew that hers was likely an easier experience than what the majority of those who interacted with the American immigration system. Like many other affairs in the world, it left her with a sour feeling in her stomach, but she couldn't quite label it.

After having her biometric data read off her passport, she approaches an immigration officer, sitting ahead of the lines and the bisected areas of that part of the airport. He's got a gruff and disheartening look on his face, in the way that all law enforcement officers do. Even though she hasn't done anything wrong or illegal, she still feels a sense of basic unsafety, like she's about to be dragged into a dark side room and questioned on every detail of her trip.

"Papers?" he barks out, refusing to avert his gaze from his desktop monitor.

"Oh, yes, of course, here they are" she says as she quickly withdraws her passport from the top portion of her purse.

"What is your intention in traveling to the United States?¨ he continues, in the same mildly hostile tone and still refusing to look Clarke in the eyes.

"Um, pleasure, I suppose. I'm moving in with my g-" she stops herself for a second, in the way she's always had to do with certain sorts of people "- my friend, I'm gonna be living with a close friend of mine".

At last, he gives some kind of real signal of recognizing Clarke's existence, by looking at her face and at her passport to confirm her identity. After a handful of moments, he stamps her passport and hands it back to her, as if he was working on an endless manufacturing line.

"Very well, welcome to New York, ma'am"

"Thank you very much" she responds briskly as she takes her documents back and walks past border control. She is now officially in the United States, and her reason for coming here was just beyond a couple of doors. As she walks into the arrivals terminals, she sees a great litany of human life. She sees families embracing each other, having surely spent a long while apart. She sees men in suits and caps holding up signs with peoples names on them. She sees people walking and across, like atoms buzzing around at the microscopic level, and at the center of everything, she sees Lexa.

In truth, she had never seen her in person before. They had met in the bohemian underbellies of the internet. IP addresses and web domains where people share their art, their music, and sometimes their lives. First it was a follow back, then it was a Discord message, then a Whatsapp one. For the past year, she had been growing closer to this woman from 10,353 miles and 18 time zones away, and for every one of those days, she was thinking of this very moment. For a moment, she is entirely aware of herself, to a self-destructive level. Thoughts of her appearance, her expression, her posture, and a million other slight intricacies of the self flash before her in a manner of seconds, like a jar being placed under a waterfall. But just as quickly as they come to her, they fade away, because she knows where she is, and she knows who she's seeing. Finally, she walks up to the steel bar, separating the arrivals from those who are taking them in.

"Hi" she says, her voice sounding like a single piano key, being played in a vast and empty home, and smiling.

"Hi," Lexa says back, sounding and looking the same.


	2. I've Gone to Look for America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> robin and steve ride a bus in pennslyvania

The western reaches of Pennsylvania reminded Steve a lot of Indiana. Beyond the iron fortress that is Pittsburgh, the region is awash with green pastures, and small towns named after places from various mother countries. It's a different experience for him, having never left the artificial boundaries of Indiana before in his life, but it is also profoundly the same. The world that was rolling by from his bus seat window was a soothing sight and gave Steve something he had not felt in a while, namely calm. It gave him a moment to take in his life as it truly was. It gave him a moment to think about how he and his best friend Robin, who sat beside him soundly asleep, had their entire lives packed away in a luggage compartment down below them. How they were following in the footsteps of so many other wandering souls before them in trying to jump into the wild and vast ocean that is New York City. His parents had told him that it was a pipe dream, that New York was a machine, fueled by the blood and tears of weaker people. They didn't say it explicitly, but he knew that in their minds "weaker people" meant people like him. He felt it on the most basic level he had.

But he was still on the bus.

Robin woke up as she usually does, coarsely, and with a sour feeling at the back of her throat. She found it amazing how, even as a product of millions of years of evolution, her body found the transition between the states of rest and activity to be a difficult one. After giving herself a moment of equilibrium, she turns to her left and finds Steve invested in a crossword puzzle he packed for the trip. She imagines his phone must have died earlier.

"Hey dingus," she says, her voice still a bit groggy; causing Steve to turn his gaze towards her slightly, "do you know where the hell we are?".

"Still in Pennsylvania, Rob." he responds, "We passed by a small town earlier, Donegal I think it was called".

"Great, great, so we have, what, another five hours to go?"

"Yea, something like that"

"Fucking dope, man," she says as she slumps her body towards the aisle of the bus. It's quiet right now, from the amount of light coming in, she thinks it's about five in the afternoon, and most people decided to take a nap just like she did. Across from their seats she sees a single mom, gently caressing the head of her daughter on the side of her torso. She wondered what their lives were like, what had gotten them to where they were, and where they were going. Even if they were caught up in entirely different situations, she doesn't believe that there's all that much difference between their family and her and Steve.

She knew that the term Rust Belt was not at all a metaphor. She's seen her friends bury their older relatives, lost to opiates, the bottle, the unemployment line, or all three. She knew that the great cities of this nation were seeing people like her come in every single day. They weren't tourists coming in for a weekend, and they weren't the children of oligarchs looking to buy up their new chic playgrounds in Brooklyn or the Upper East Side or anywhere else. They were people whose homes have grown ruinous and fatigued, and whose only chance at a decent life was to throw themselves into metropolitans ocean's, owned and controlled by the same people who let her hometown die. She resented the world and the people that put her and Steve on this bus, but she found that there wasn't much of an outlet for that kind of rage.

The pair got to New York at around ten in the evening, right in the middle of Manhattan, in the Port Authority building. Immediately as they were getting off the bus, they saw a rat the size of a small puppy run into the shadows ahead of them. They hung back a bit to wait for other people to get their bags first. It would have been a greater hassle if they had tried to go ahead of the crowd. It was about a 20-minute walk to their residence, and they didn't want to waste any time.

"I really hope they can let us in at this hour," Robin said as she tried to shift the weight of her backpack.

"Yea if they don't I don't think that's a great sign for us"

Robin chuckled a bit. Even though they were alone in a new city and about to start studying in a very competitive music program at Julliard, she was glad that she had Steve to rely on, and she was sure that he felt the same way towards her. She knows that both of them have gone through a lot to get to where they are now and that whatever this city was going to throw at them, they would find a way to overcome it.

"Hey, Robin?"

"Yea?"

"I'm glad I'm doing this with you."

Robin smiled as she turned to look at him. "Yea, me too man", she said as her breath projected itself as a mist in front of her.

"This is the first day of the rest of our lives".


	3. I Never Thought I'd See the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clarke enters lexa's apartment, fluff ensues

Lexa's apartment smelled of sage and bath salts.

Going through her door felt like walking into a dense Japanese forest. Immediately, Clarke's vision was awash in a torrent of deep greens and browns. She could hear the faint tricklings of a waterfall from somewhere inside, the contrast between her home and the light speed streets of Brooklyn was incredibly violent in its intensity.

Lexa brought Clarke into her home with her hand wrapped around hers. Her hand had this basic warmth to it, the likes of which Clarke had never felt before. They had talked throughout the subway ride home, so much so that Clarke was surprised the others on the train didn't mind them at all. Lexa asked about Australia, and what it was like to leave home; Clarke asked about New York, and what was available to her now that she was here. All of this is still mildly surreal for her, before this point, her relationship with Lexa was essentially a collection of ones and zeros stored in a server in Singapore or Korea or someplace. All of a sudden she's talking about getting a dog with her and where to put her vinyl collection.

As she was putting her clothes in her wardrobe in her new bedroom, Lexa comes up behind her and hugs her body, grasping just below her shoulder blades.

"I'm so glad you're here" she whispers gently into her ear

Clarke chuckles softly to herself, her cheeks turning a subtle shade of crimson. "I'm glad I'm here too," she says as she places her right hand on hers. "I'm also glad you're not some kind of internet scam artist" she jokes as she bends her head back to keep it parallel with Lexa's.

"Oh baby, if I was going to scam you I would have already gotten your banking information. I would've left you homeless and destitute". Clarke lets out one of those hearty laughs that she has, the kind that bounces around Lexa's subconscious as she's in the bounds of sleep. "And I would've used that money to buy a beach house in the Bahamas."

"How much money do you think I have?" Clarke asked, ramping down from her laughter.

"That's the thing, I could also take out loans in your name, so not only would you have been destitute, you'd also be left with crippling de-"

Clarke leans in to meet her lips with Lexa's. Initially, it takes Lexa a bit off-guard, but she kisses Clarke back with every fiber she can muster for it. Her lips taste like strawberries, the kinds grow in abundance and gifted with the bright reds and the deepest greens. The kinds that her mother would cut up and put into jars of water during the warm summer months. They hold a fullness and energy the likes of which Lexa has never felt before, and she comes to realize that she wants nothing more than this exact moment.

After a few moments, Lexa pulls back from Clarke's embrace, "Wow, that was… wow."

"I'm sorry, did I come on too strong? I just though-"

"No, no, don't worry you didn't do anything wrong." she interjected before Clarke went any further. "It's just… _wow_ "

"I've been waiting for that for a long time," Clarke said quietly.

"Yea, I've been waiting for that too." She lets the moment of their embrace hang in the air a little while longer.

"I'm really tired though" Clarke says in a normal volume, "There was a crying baby right behind me for what felt like 12 hours."

"Yea that must have been rough." She scratches her head for a moment, "how about, you can hop in the shower, I'll make up some popcorn, and we watch some old episodes of The Office before going to bed. Is that okay?".

Clarke nods slightly, "yea, that sounds okay".

"Okay, great," Lexa says as she gives her a kiss on the forehead.

As Clarke walks into their bedroom with wet hair and her pajamas on, she sees that Lexa has already started watching TV. She's smirking slightly and eating popcorn. The room is mostly dark, so she doesn't immediately notice when Clarke snuggles up next to her. The bright light of her laptop is mildly disorientating at first, but it quickly settles.

Everything's good.


	4. Dissolving Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: homophobia
> 
> robin and steve eat breakfast and share emotions

The Meredith Willson Residence Hall houses about half of Juilliard's student population in any given academic year, and has done so since its inauguration in 1990. Located inside the Lincoln Center performing arts complex, it gives the next generation of great musicians, actors, and dancers a space to carry out their studies, along with all the amenities they could possibly need. It's also where Robin and Steve are going to be living in for the next year. 

Luckily for them, the hall had someone available to facilitate their check-in when they arrived at around 10:30 in the evening. They were given their passes, a brief rundown on the hall's different facilities, and a recommendation to attend the following Monday. Neither of them really had the energy to process what was being said to them, so they simply nodded until they were let go. Anything that they had to know could be attended to in the morning. Steve got a room on floor 12, while Robin got one on floor 14, so they were close by.

After finally getting a good night's sleep in their own beds, Steve and Robin went down to get breakfast in a coffee shop they spotted as they were walking from the Port Authority building the night before. Robin got an egg-on-toast, Steve got a buttery croissant.

"Did you manage to get everything unpacked?" Robin says in between bites of her toast.

"Meh, I got a little bit out, but I'm mostly saving it for later, what about you?"

"I've gotten most out, but I didn't bring a lot of stuff with me anyway. What are the people on your floor like?"

"Well, I was woken up by this one dude fucking belting away to what I think was a musical number, so that was great."

Robin snorts a little bit as she tries to contain her laughter

"Was he good at least?" she asks

Steve takes a moment while furling his brows slightly. "No, no he wasn't," he responds as he lets out a hearty laugh, only to be interrupted by the ding of his cellphone. It's another message from his father, the kind that he's been receiving from his parents ever since he left Hawkins. At the sight of it, he let out a heavy sigh.

"Everything alright?"

"Yea, you know," Steve throws his hand up in the air, "it's parents being dumb again. Dad's going off on me like 'Steven moving to New York is a bad plan' and 'If you don't come back to Hawkins, do not speak to us again', all the same old shit."

"He seriously said that you? That guy's got some fucking nerve."

"Yeah but it's nothing I didn't already expect, honestly."

"What do you mean?"

"Well you remember how my coming out went yeah? Instead of just saying 'We understand Steven, and we love you' my dad went on this incoherent tangent about how the human brain develops and how we should be so quick to declare ourselves something like that in our youth, while my mom just sat there with what was only  _ almost  _ a frown. They didn't kick me out of the house, call me a name, or beat me, but it wasn't super great either."

Robin puts her open palm on top of his fist, almost instinctively. "Yeah, I understand where you're coming from. Even if they're not saying anything awful, parents can be super closed off. That's how mine were for a while after I came out."

She can see the emotion in Steve's face slowly whittle into a more solemn state, and she tightens her grip on his fist.

"But that doesn't have to be a mark on your life forever. You're a grown-ass adult now, who can make his own decision, and one day your parents are going to have to see that. If one day they come around, then good, that's how they should have been the whole time. If they never come around, then that's not your fault. The only thing you're guilty of is living your life on your terms."

In their collective silence, the hums and chimes of the coffee shop obtain a greater intensity. Every door opening, every clink of a glass, every ding of a bell becomes like a miniature and fleeting symphony. Amongst the noise, Steve tries to collect himself internally.

"Thanks, Robs," she can hear a small break in his voice, "that really means a lot."

"Of course." Robin smiles back at him, "You've done the same for me."

Steve looks at her squarely in the eyes, with a sense of anticipation about him.

"You dingus."

He bursts out in laughter.

As they're picking their coats up, Steve stops what he's doing and places his hand on the chair firmly, almost as if he's trying to support himself.

"Hey, do you think it would be a good idea to go to Central Park tomorrow? It's close by and it's probably a good way to settle ourselves before classes start on Monday."

Robin nodes to herself, "Yeah, that sounds like a nice time. Chill way to spend a Sunday morning."

"Dope, dope." 


	5. El Sol También Amanece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a day in the park

One of Lexa's favorite sights in the world was the sunrise over the eastern edge of Central Park. Every Sunday of her childhood, her mother would wake her up early in the morning and bring Lexa along to see it with her. Now, at virtually any moment she wants, she can immediately recall how the birds chirped, or the wind floated over the reservoir. It stood as a tradition for many years, only fading away when her mother's age got the best of her and made getting up that early more and more difficult. Nonetheless, Lexa carries it on in her adulthood. Although she doesn't do it as often anymore, and the move to Brooklyn in the latter half of her university career making it a longer trip, she still finds time to beat the sun to the park. She also thought it would be a good way to introduce Clarke to the city.

As Clarke sat in the underground of the Astoria Boulevard subway station, she began to wonder why she had agreed to do this in the first place.

"And how often is it that you do this again?" she asks, still trying to scratch her eyes into action.

"I try to do it about once a month I think, now," Lexa responds, with total control over all of her physical faculties.

"Yeah, even that seems like too much"

Lexa chuckles a bit to herself and wraps her hand around Clarke, "Well, you know how you can paint really beautiful landscapes? Like just the most gorgeous fucking reflections of the earth I have ever seen?"

Clarke blushes slightly, "Where are you going with this, Lex."

"I'm just saying that could be a really good source of creative inspiration for you."

They hear the metal shrill of the train come in, and see its front lights slowly illuminate the station.

"I'm sure it will be."

And it was.

It was unlike anything Clarke had ever seen before. She and Lexa were sitting on a lonely park bench, directly opposite the reservoir which split Carnegie Hill and the Upper West Side. Lexa spoke to her about how the family of geese that she always spotted on every one of her visits. She spoke to her about how the sunlight refracted from the foundation at the center of the water, and Clarke felt at peace.

"Thank you for this, Lexa," she said, still looking straight ahead towards the sun

"Don't even mention it, my pleasure entirely"

"No it's just that," Clarke took in a sharp breath, "I like you, a lot, and I'm really happy about being New York with you-"

"It's a lot to adjust to."

"Yeah," Clarke said in an exasperated tone, glad that Lexa was able to understand. "I mean I'm still not even used to seeing people wear sweaters and coats in September."

"That's understandable," Lexa said as she nodded softly and placed her arm around Clarke's shoulder, "and I can't imagine how difficult being so far away from home must feel, but I want you to know that I'm here for you, babe. If there's anything you need, with the visa, with finding a job, with your emotions, I'm here for you Clarke. You are the most important part of my life right now, and I mean that." 

Two lonesome tears began to trail from the ends of Clarke's eyes. "Thank you, baby, that means a lot."

Lexa lets Clarke's head fall squarely onto her left shoulder and rubs her shoulder gently like one would the mane of a sleeping lion. They continue to watch the sunrise in silence. 

* * *

"Okay, there's no fucking way you think that Fall Out Boy was better than Panic at the Disco."

"No, that's exactly what I'm telling you."

Steve scoffed so loudly that it startled a small group of birds nearby. "Next you're gonna tell me that you think Chips Ahoy is better than Oreos."

"I do think Chips Ahoy are better than Oreos."

"Robin, that was a joke, that I was making, please don't do this to me."

"Have you seen how they always try to get you to eat it with milk? What is up with that shit? It's suspicious."

"And what do you have against milk?"

"By itself? Everything!"

Robin and Steve sat down on a bench in front of a large body of water, they had been walking for about an hour now. Beside them, on another bench, were two women, one dressed in a black coat and the other in a grey one. From what either of them could tell, they seemed to be sitting in silence

"Whatever, I'm not gonna fucking defend milk right now, you ready for classes tomorrow?"

"I think I have to be, dude, but I haven't really been working on my singing voice this summer. I'm scared that I'm just gonna be amongst a bunch of girls named Becky from Boston who did theatre camp every year."

"Yea I feel that I saw Whiplash on the bus over here, and in retrospect that might have been a bad idea."

The woman in the grey coat stuck her head out and turned to face them. "Wait, are you two going to Julliard or something?"

"Yeah, we are, why do you ask?" Robin responded.

"Oh cool, it's just that I have some friends that go to that school. I think they're juniors now."

"Ah okay, well we just moved here, we're gonna start our freshman year tomorrow."

"I also just moved here," the woman in black interjected, "actually I only finished unpacking everything like last night."

"Oh wow, that's wild."

"And where are you from? I hear an accent." Steve asked.

"I was born in Melbourne."

"Ooo cool, well I hope America is treating you well so far."

"It's been alright." the woman said a bit sardonically.

"What are your names?" Robin asked.

The woman in black put a hand on her chest, "I'm Clarke, and this is my girlfriend, Alexandra."

"Most people just call me Lexa, though," she added.

"What about you, what are your names?"

"I'm Steve."

"And I'm Robin."

"And we're both from Indiana."

"Ah okay," Clarke said with a series of small nods.

Not wanting them to return to their original state of silence, Robin comes up with a proposition.

"Hey," she began a bit sheepishly, "we don't know a lot of people in New York, really any for that matter, so would you guys want to go out for a drink or something sometime?"

"With both of you? Are you two together?"

"No, but we get that a lot. We're just good friends." Steve corrected.

"Also what do you mean by going out for a drink? I thought you were freshmen in college," Lexa asked.

"Are you a cop?" Robin asked back.

"No," she responded.

"We have fake IDs," Steve answered.

"Alright then," Lexa said in acceptance.

"So we'll see you on Friday night? That sound good?"

Clarke and Lexa looked at each other and nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good."


	6. The Bard's Pedagogy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw male chauvinism
> 
> robin's first day of class

Robin's first class was Introduction to Vocal Performance, headed by professor Edward J. Murrows. The class was situated in a somewhat remote section of Juillard's campus, so by the time Robin had managed to locate it, the twenty or so other students were already there doing vocal warm-ups. Luckily, the professor did not seem to be in attendance yet, so she was able to get to her spot without feeling the silent shame and judgment of entering an ongoing class.

The studio, much like the rest of the conservatory, was a testament to the aesthetic values of modernist design and symmetry. With its impeccably white halls and a wall-length window overlooking West 66th Street, Robin felt even more alien than she did in the residence hall just a few days ago. The fact her classmates were clad in a litany of Italian and French designer brands only intensified this feeling in her. Nevertheless, she waited patiently for Murrows to arrive and found it curious that the professor was the one to be late to class on the first day of the semester.

He did, eventually, appear, and the room fell silent upon hearing his opening of the door. Murrows was an elderly man, Robin placed his age somewhere in the late 60s, and he was indeed the platonic ideal of an academic. Donning a grey vest, white shirt, and black slacks, he looked as if a statue had been animated by other-worldly means, and he towered over the piano which was set out in front of him.

"Good morning class," his voice projected itself outward in the shape of a crescent moon, "and welcome to Introduction to Vocal Performance. My name is Edward J. Murrows, and I will be your instructor for this semester. Before we begin, can anyone tell me why humans sing?"

A boy in the top row furthest from the professor raised his hand first, "We sing to communicate ideas poetically and rhythmically."

Murrows held onto his vest and shook his head, "Wrong," he began, "we sing in order to woo our lovers."

Robin let out a small chuckle, but she seemed to be alone in this reaction.

"You see, students," he continued. "although my name denotes a Saxon origin, I originally hail from Venezuela, and I was raised there as a boy. And during my boyhood, I was exposed to all manner of song and dance. To lull me to sleep my father, who was of the aboriginal Wayuu people, would sing me lullabies that his father sang to him. When I came of age, my mother taught me how to dance to the  _ Gaitas  _ of the hinterland, where she was born. Throughout my youth, music was the fuel that powered the basic social element of our lives."

At this point, the entire class was listening attentively, wanting to see where he was going to go with this discourse.

"But, as so often happens, the call of adventure beckoned out to me, and I decided to come to this country, at only twenty years of age. In those days, I was living in what is now called East Harlem, because I was told that many other Latin Americans were living there also. And it is in this experience which I observed the, for lack of a better term, cannibalistic nature of American culture. Because my time in East Harlem was much like Venezuela; Dominicans had their merengue, Colombians had their Cumbia, and all of this music had served the same purpose as a social fuel. But sometimes I had to take the subway down to Lower Manhattan or someplace to look for work, and I got to listen to what was popular in the core of American culture. Now, American music had always been present in Venezuela, but what terrified me was the speed at which one style or one song was discarded for something else. Music was transformed into another commodity, only to be listened to with expensive radios and in private clubs, the social dimension was all but erased."

At the front of the class, Robin was nodding silently along to all of this. In Hawkins, all of her teachers were either unconcerned with their course material or overtly authoritarian, but professor Murrows was different. Here she sat, in a class which was supposed to introduce her to vocal performance, yet no one was vocally performing, and despite that contradiction, she was deeply enthralled in what was being said.

"And that is the knowledge that I want to impart upon all of you. We do not sing because it will give us money, or fame, or prestige, as those are all constructs, dependent on rules that we wrote down after the fact. We sing to connect with people, we sing to give life meaning and intrigue, we sing because we live."

After taking a moment to pause him, Murrows sat down upon the piano. "Now," he resumed, "may you all stand and give me an E flat."

* * *

Once the class had concluded, Robin had gotten her backpack and proceeded to collect her coat from the hanger which was placed at the door of the class. As she was putting it on, one of her classmates had appeared at the left edge of her vision.

"Pretty weird way to start a course, right?" he asked.

"I thought it was pretty interesting actually," she responded, not giving him eye contact.

"Well, still, it was ballsy of him to shit talk America like that."

Robin gave him a strong and interrogative side glance, "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean I'm sure our music is just as good as what they have in Brazil."

"Venezuela."

"Whatever, what's the difference," the man scoffed as he looked over his shoulder and put his hand on the wall next to him for support.

"Anyway, I know this bar nearby, the beer is pretty cheap, you wanna come?" his question went into Robin's ears like acid.

"Are you serious? It's Monday, dude, that's sad," she responded.

"Whatever, I don't need your judgment, bitch." he said as he bounced his weight off the wall and stormed off.

"Well, he seems lovely," Robin said under her breath in an exasperated tone.

Just then, she received a photo text from Steve featuring a box of donuts with the caption: "i got these for free from the student union, come through, i’m at the cafeteria in the residence hall."

A small portion of air jutted out of Robin's nose in amusement.

"omw" she responded.


	7. Them Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw mentions of homophobic violence

Steve was in a state he often found himself in, laid out on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His first class was rather uneventful, nothing more than the professor explaining the course plan and where he wanted them to go in the first few weeks of the semester. It was nothing Steve couldn't read about later, so he didn't pay much mind to it. He didn't have anything else going on until tomorrow, and Robin was busy with her Russian elective, so he really didn't have anything else going on at the moment either. It was a weekday, so all of the bars would be more or less empty, and the sky was colored a very dull shade of grey anyhow. The only thing he had at his disposal was his phone and several hours of free time.

As Steve was mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, a thought popped into his head, in an almost intrusive manner. He had always known that he was capable of being attracted to someone regardless of what their gender happened to be, in the same way, that he had always known he needed to drink water. Unfortunately, the knowledge that there was only one acceptable way of love was also just as primordial in him. He still has the scar from when he told Johnny Gardner his shirt looked nice in the third grade.

Nevertheless, he had a litany of intimate experiences in his youth, not all of which fit neatly into the mold of heterosexuality. And he could see how the country was changing around him, he was fourteen when Obergefell v. Hodges happened. He remembers crying joyfully to himself in his room that night, only to come downstairs to see that his father and mother were crying tears of rage and anguish.

But that was passed him. New York was a galaxy, containing in its 302 square miles the entire mosaic of the human experience. In this place, it didn't matter who he kissed, or who he took to bed, and he didn't have to be afraid of having his life turned over by this one detail. He was a free man now, or at the very least, he had the opportunity to live freer than he had before.

And that's when an idea dawned on him.

_Google Play Store Search: gay dating apps_

  1. _Grindr - Gay chat_
  2. SCRUFF
  3. ROMEO - Gay Dating & Chat



He had of course known that these types of apps existed, but he had been in no position to install any of them until now. He opted to get to Grindr, simply because it was the first one on the list.

After entering his email and setting a password (coltsrule2001), he was given the option to set his profile, a display name, and what he was looking for. He put up one of his old selfies from this summer, set his name to steve, and set his looking for status as "friends, chat, and dating", seemed basic enough to him. He was then asked to turn on his location and was shown the profiles of at least 20 other men within a mile of him. It took him aback slightly, seeing that many profiles pop at him all at once, but he supposed that he should begin to look for someone amiable. Almost immediately, however, he had received a message.

His profile picture was certainly a sight for sore eyes, as his mother was in the habit of saying. He had blond hair, freckles dotting the length of his face in just the right way, lips that beckoned out to him in their fullness, and eyes like the woods Steve would roam in times of personal crisis. His name was Andrew.

_Andrew: Hey, you look cute._

_steve: thanks, right back atcha ;)_

_Andrew: Hahah_

_Andrew: So are you from around here?_

_steve: no actually, i just moved in from indiana a couple days ago_

_Andrew: Oh cool, I think I have a cousin over there or something_

_steve: oh, dope_

_steve: are you in college too?_

Andrew then sent Steve a picture of his penis, or at least _a_ penis. It was badly lit, and from an angle that did not lend it any favors.

_Andrew: Pics?_

Steve didn't really know how he was feeling about this. His girl friends had always talked about how much they hate getting photos like these from guys, how it was an action with a basic disgust to it, and he was definitely feeling that, but there was something along with it. He was disappointed. Andrew had seemed like a genuinely nice guy, and Steve probably would've ended up going on a date with him, but he just had to go ahead and ruin it with this bullshit. 

He looked at his phone screen for a few extra moments and promptly blocked Andrew's account without answering him. He put it back on his nightstand and returned to staring at his ceiling.

Steve didn't really know what to make of that still. He hoped that he would not have to wade through a sea of unwanted and intrusive dicks in order to find someone who was a halfway decent person to hang out with, but he also didn't want to let one badly groomed piece of genitalia get in his way of finding a connection with someone. Maybe there was a mixer he could go to nearby.

Interrupting his mulling was a text message from Robin.

"hey dingus, i just got out of russian, come to the park with me, we can watch heathers and make fun of joggers.

"omw" he responded.


	8. The Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lexa goes to work

Lexa's office disgusted her.

It wasn't poorly ventilated or badly clean, in fact, it met all of the relevant health standards, and she was sure of that because they checked every month. What disgusted her were the colors. The most striking combination in her workplace's palette was neon green, a very hot pink, and grey. Her manager said it reminded him of his childhood, and she was compelled to report his parents to social services. The cubicle layout was also a source of great visual oppression, in that it did not exist. Her office didn't use cubicles, all of her coworkers were sat at one large roundtable. In order to better facilitate their creative thinking, they were given exercise balls instead of chairs. Management personnel were given glasses offices, however, situated in a square formation around the large roundtable. Along with the conference room, this enabled them to have an unobstructed view of the staff writers at all times. The floors were painted with a great variety of motivational quotes; the one which laid at Lexa's feet read "What you think, you become. What you feel, you attract What you imagine, you create."

But it's what paid her bills, and there's not a lot of work one gets with a degree in journalism, so she had to stomach, like waiting for a kidney stone to pass on its own. It paid well too, seventy thousand dollars a year to write about which Simpsons character you are based on your favorite breakfast cereal. This wasn't what she was picturing when she went to school, though, and every sight of that fucking quote at the base of her person was a reminder of that.

Pushing all of her latent rages to the side for a moment, she sat down at her exercise ball and pulled out her laptop. Hanging out with Clarke had put her a bit behind on her work schedule, but she would give up all of her Christmas bonuses for the next ten years if it meant one extra day off work to be with Clarke. She had three articles she needed to write by the end of the week, one about the cultural importance of the Janet Jackson-Justin Timberlake affair at the 2004 Super Bowl, one about why the Garbage Pail Kids don't hold anymore, and one about why Andrew Garfield was objectively the best Spider-man. They all had a 2k word minimum, and even that seemed like a Herculean task, but that's what the next eight hours were for.

As she was preparing to write the Janet Jackson article, she spotted her boss walking up to her from the margins of her vision. He sat down next to her, as that seat was empty.

"Hey, Lexi, how's it going?" he says as he pats on the back with just enough force to firmly denote his presence.

"Good morning, Cage," her boss had all of them call him by his first name instead of Mr. Wallace, and the unique nickname that he had for her made her feel like worms were crawling under her skin, "I'm doing alright."

"That's good to hear dude," he responded to her with an unearned sense of comradery, "anyway, while I have you here, I need to talk about your content output."

"Is there an issue?"

"No no no, there's no issues here man, it's just that Corporate has been pushing for more ads and more clicks, you feel me. They just got a new batch of sponsors for the website and they want us to put in all the effort they can to make sure that they get a return on their investment."

Lexa noted his use of the word us in the same way that one would note a polar bear on the subway, "so you need me to get more work out, essentially."

"Yea, yea, just for the time being," he said as she swatted his hands around aimlessly, "and believe you me, I am doing everything in my power to try to get y'all raises for this."

"Good to know," Lexa responded in neutrality.

"Hype, keep up the good work, home skillet," he told her with a pointed finger and a smile like a set of bowling pins, stacked up against each other. As he walked back to his office, Lexa began to understand what those postal workers in the 80s must have felt like.

When she faced back to her laptop, she clicked out of her word document and back to her notes app.

ARTICLE TO WRITE THIS WEEK

1.IMPORTANCE OF JANET JACKSON NIP SLIP @ 2004 SUPER BOWl 

2. GARBAGE PAIL KIDS 

3. ANDREW GARFIELD: BEST SPIDERMAN (HELP ME JESUS)

She reckoned that two more article ideas would leave Cage at bay, so she began to ponder what would be received well by her website's audience.

4\. WHY SPY KIDS IS A METAPHOR FOR THE NEW TESTAMENT

5\. HOW TO TELL YOUR PARENTS ABOUT YOUR ALL VEGAN POLYCULE 

As she began to resign herself to the upcoming day's work, she received a text from Clarke, still stuck at home job hunting. It was a picture of a sketch she had down, depicting the first package she ever got from Lexa (a copy of Brave New World by Aldous Huxley) wrapped around in vines. It was captioned: "i loved reading this book when you sent it to me, thinking about you!!"

Lexa sent back: "thinking about you too :) <3"


	9. Popular Currents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clarke goes to manhattan for an afternoon

"AND YOU WILL SEE HOW THE ALL OF THE MODERN CHURCHES ARE CORRUPT DENS OF SODOMY AND CHILD TRAFFICKING. THE POPE SELLS 1,500 POUNDS OF CRACK COCAINE EVERY HOUR, ON THE HOUR. THE ANGLICAN CHURCH IN AMERICA IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE ASSASSINATION OF JOHN FITZGERALD KENNEDY. THE ONLY COMMUNIONS ON THIS PLANET WHICH ARE OF GOD ARE THE ORIGINAL CHURCHES IN THE NATURAL SYRIA. OPEN YOUR EYES TO THE MISCHIEF AND THE MISERY WHICH DOMINATES YOUR LIFE. I AM A BUILDING A NEW CHURCH, FREE OF THIS DECADENCE." 

The man standing next to Clarke on the subway continued to scream incoherently about the holy land and the natural dynamism of true Christianity. She could almost see each speck of salvia expel outward from his mouth, his eyes growing out of his skull like a recently planted seed. Although it disturbed her greatly, what unnerved her, even more, was the fact that no one else in the cart was paying much mind to him. Did something like this happen often? Were speakers like these on a schedule of some kind, and you just had to get used to them if you wanted to live here? Her mind generated many such questions, but very few answers.

Fortunately for her, the train had finally arrived at her station, 42nd Street and Times Square. Lexa had told her that Times Square was a gaudy tourist trap not worth the fare required to go there, but Clarke reckoned she ought to visit it at least once, if for nothing else than to say that she has. There had to be a reason why they put it in all the movies.

The exterior of the subway station was dressed up a bit more elaborate than others she has seen around. It presented its available lines in a wave, and it looked more like some kind of Japanese pop-up shop than a node in the city's public transport system. She couldn't regard its sight for long, however, lest she be overwhelmed by the waves of people coming at her from every direction. She still hadn't really gotten used to the speed of New York. Melbourne wasn't a small town by any means, but there was definitely a greater sense of space than she felt here. The current managed to push her further towards where she wanted to go, with her own movement providing a merely minor contribution. Already, the saturation of the billboards and the bus ads and the wall-length screens had begun to assault her eyes, so much so that they managed to freeze her for a moment. This doesn't last long, however, as she was bumped into by a young woman dressed head to toe in Vineyard Vines.

"Watch where you're going, bitch!" she said as she continued to go forth into the sea of people in front of them.

"You bumped into me!" Clarke responded, but when she managed to get the words out, she was already gone. She figured she should get out of this crowd, and at that moment, she spotted a diner at the left of her vision.

She sat down at a counter facing onto the street in front of the diner and waited to be served. In the meantime, she thought it would be a good idea to text Lexa, seeing as this would be her lunch hour

_clarke: hey babe, how is it going :)_

_lexa: it's going alright, eating a fruit salad rn_

_clarke: sounds healthy_

_lexa: yeah, if i ate anything with a higher calorie count i'd get bullied by my coworkers_

_clarke: no dfjdskfhsdhfshkfhd_

_lexa: what's up with you tho?_

_clarke: oh i'm just waiting to eat here myself_

_clarke: btw is everyone in new york an arsehole?_

_lexa: kind of but why are you asking_

_clarke: no, it's just that i decided to go to times square, and some girl who bumped into *me* called me a bitch right to my face like it was nothing_

_lexa: baby, i told you times square was shit lmao_

_clarke: that's beside the point!!!_

_lexa: ik ik i was just being cheeky_

_lexa: but yea there's a lot of assholes like that running around this city, eventually you learn to either tune them out or be as much of an asshole back_

_clarke: i suppose that makes sense but it's still kinda shitty_

_clarke: it's spelled arsehole btw_

_lexa: i know, and i'm sorry that happened. if anyone else tries that shit, i'll deck them_

_lexa: and no, it's spelled asshole_

_clarke: thanks, babe <3 _

_clarke: agree to disagree._

As she sent out the final message, a waiter approached her with a notepad in hand.

"Anything I can get you?" he asked sternly.

"Yea, I think I'll have the Thursday special." 

"Anything to drink?"

"I'll have a coke"

"Is Pepsi okay?"

"Yeah, it is"

He left to the kitchen without saying another word.

* * *

At around 4 pm that same day, Clarke found herself at the shore of the Hudson River, in the lower west side. Bodies of water had always given her a sense of peace and recalled memories of her father at the Melbourne dockyards. She was fascinated by their negation of the world she knew, how they could be both walls, and open paths in the same moment. 

As a small ship was passing by, she felt her phone vibrate in her back pocket and pulled it to see that it was her mother calling from Australia. Doing the math in her head, she reckoned it must have been around seven in the morning for her, a not unusual hour for her to be awake.

"Hi, mum! Good morning!" Clarke said shortly after accepting the call

"Good morning sweetie! How are you?"

"I'm alright, been a while since we've talked hasn't it?"

"Yea, sorry about that, it's just that between the time difference and the shifts I've been pulling at the hospital, it's hard to find an hour that works." She took a breath in. "But I have a day off today, so that's nice. How's everything going for you in New York."

"That's good to hear mum, and yea, everything's going great. I'm gonna be coming up on two weeks here soon. Lexa's been great, but since she's at work most of the time, I have a lot of time to myself."

"And how's the job search going for you?"

"I mean, I've been sending my CVs out, I have a few interviews lined up for next week, but these things tend to go slowly."

"Right then. I just don't want you to fall behind anything." her mother said, with a tinge of reservedness in her voice.

"What do you mean by that?" Clarke responded, with a feeling of nervous anticipation.

"Well, it's just that finding a job in the arts can be really difficult, and I don't want you to waste any time on that front."

"Yea I know, it was hard in Australia too, but I have some saving set aside and I can always take commissions. I can handle myself here mum."

"I know you can sweetie, I'm just worried about you."

Clarke felt a bit sorrowful for how she responded to her. Even though her mother has always been supportive of her art, Clarke has always felt like she would rather her be in another profession, one which is supposedly safer or more rewarding. She had never said such a thing to her face of course, but it was something that Clarke always sensed when they got to the subject of her career.

"I understand mum, I'm sorry for getting defensive like that."

"It's okay baby, don't worry."

There was a slight pause between them.

"Well listen, your father and I have to run some errands soon, so I'll try calling you at another time, does that sound okay?"

"Of course it does mum, I'll see if I can try calling you first too."

"Excellent then, I love you, sweetie."

"Love you too mum, bye"

As Clarke put her phone back in her pocket and her hands in her jacket, she began to stare out into the Hudson once again, with her soul as flat as the waters.


	10. The Glow of Eachother's Majestic Presence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lexa, clarke, robin, and steve go to a bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about not updating in a couple of days but this chapter is a longer one!!
> 
> also here's ana ng for those who haven't heard it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gTa0nv-127E

New York is so fucking cold at night, comparable to the worst Januaries in Indiana.

It didn't help any Steve and Robin had to stand still in a line that didn't seem to move at all. Behind them were a group of frat boys, loudly proclaiming how much they intended to drink that night. In front, a couple of idly smoked their clovers in silence. The two of them acted as a buffer between two very strange contrasts. 

"You texted Clarke and Lexa, right?" Robin asked Steve, expelling a thin mist from her speech.

"I did, but they live in Brooklyn or some shit, so they might be a while"

Just as Steve was saying that he felt a light tap on his shoulder, and when he turned around, he saw Clarke and Lexa, standing shoulder to shoulder.

"Hey! You guys made it!" Clarke cried out as she and Lexa hugged both of them in quick succession. "Have you been waiting for long? The me- I mean subway was a bit slow"

"No no, not at all," Robin lied, "the lines moved forward a bit". Clarke and Lexa scooched into their place

"Hey, y'all are cutting!" one of the frat boys from behind them objected

"Bite me, trust fund baby!" Lexa vocally crunched back, silencing him. "Anyways, how are you guys?" she said as she turned back to the other three in the party, a bright joy in her voice.

"Yea, we've been alright," Steve responded, slightly startled by the speed of her emotional transition.

"Classes have been starting out smoothly," Robin interjected. "What about you guys, how have your weeks been?"

"Well, I had to write about vegan polycules for my job, so not super great."

"I'm afraid to ask what kind of work would give you that," Steve commented.

"Lexa writes for Popbuzz," Clarke mentioned.

"The quiz people? Were you the one who told me that if I was an onion I would be a Shallot?" Robin questioned.

"Yea I probably wrote that one. Between you and me, I take a lot of weed gummies at work, so that might have been a product of one of them."

Clarke, Robin, and Steve all gave out strong laughs at Lexa's deadpan intonation. The sounds gave her a warm feeling in the core of her body. After 40 hours having to deal with her boss, her fluff pieces, and those goddamn exercise balls, she was with her girlfriend and two new friends. Things were the way they should be.

"So, what's the name of this bar again? I think we were only sent the address." Clarke asked, trying to see if there was a sign for it somewhere.

"Distrikt, spelled with a K." Steve responded. "I guess they were worried about what would come up on a Google search."

"Yeah, I can't wait to be offered ketamine here," Robin said, invoking a strong laugh from Steve.

* * *

The interior of the bar was like most others, in that it had clearly weathered the ravings and machinations of those who came before them. Lord knows how many footsteps and spilled drinks had made the wood look the way it did, and the walls were lined with photos of people in their own peaks of life. Like most bars, it is also incredibly crowded, and the wait for their drinks seemed to beat out the wait to even enter the establishment. Eventually, the line did clear up, and the four nightcrawlers got their own samples of social lubricant. Steve ordered a lime mojito, Robin a whiskey-soda, Lexa a gin and tonic, and Clarke got a cosmo. The contrast between the four beverages stood starkly as they were set down on a booth they had found.

"Lots of people here tonight," Steve noted.

"Yea, I think they must be having some kind of drink promotion, five cents a shot or some shit," Lexa shot back as she looked around the premises, "plus its a Friday night in Manhattan, this kind of thing isn't really that unusual."

"Oh, did you grow up around here or something?" Robin asked before taking another drink.

"Born and raised in Brooklyn, wouldn't want it any other way," Lexa responded to her, with a tone that implied a sort of self-aware arrogance.

"We haven't really been able to go to Brooklyn yet, actually," Robin pondered out loud, "I should write that down for later."

"Less itinerary making, more drinking, you're sitting on that whiskey." Steve urged as Robin gave him a side-eye from the above her lit phone screen.

"At least I'm not drinking a fucking mojito, because you know, I'm not 45 or divorced."

"You're not 45 or divorced, _yet."_

"Oh, you think you're smart? You think you're funny? You think you're hot shit?" Robin asked in succession, with each question sounding more playfully insulting than the last. Steve tried to contain his laughter as he took another sip of his drink, spilling some of it in the process.

"So how long have you guys known each other?" Clarke yelled over the climbing volume of the bar around them. "You two seem pretty close."

Steve nodded slightly to denote that he was processing the question as he set his drink down on the table in front of him. "Actually," he began, "we only really started talking during our last year of high school, but we've known each other since we were kids."

"Yea, he was a jock cliche asshole between freshman and junior year," Robin added.

"No I was not," Steve said with a scoff in his voice.

"I didn't know you were into historical revisionism, Steve-o." Robin turned to face Clarke and Lexa. "What about you two?" she asked, "How long have you been dating?"

"Well," Clarke began, "we met online about a year ago, on Tumblr."

"She commented on one of my short stories," Lexa interjected, prompting a mildly embarrassed shush from Clarke.

"...And it just kinda snowballed from there. And now I'm in a bar in New York!"

"That you are," Lexa said as she pulled Clarke in for a kiss on the cheek, her face lighting up red with her blush. 

Robin smiles softly to herself and silently wishes that she can have what Clarke and Lexa have one day soon. 

* * *

After some more conversation about Robin and Steve's studies at Julliard, Lexa's New Media horror stories from work, and Clarke's struggles with the USCIS's bureaucracy, Steve begins to hear a song come on from the bar's internet jukebox. It's the beginning notes of _Ana Ng_ by They Might Be Giants, and they hit his psyche like a gunshot from point-blank range. It drugs up memories from the deepest reaches of his memory, and part of him is shocked as to why it's even being played in a place like this, but then he gets an idea.

"Holy shit, you guys," he said in a hurried and rushed tone, "we have to dance to this, right now."

"Dingus, you know I can't dance for shit, and none of us have finished our drinks."

Steve downs the rest of the mojito and slams it down on the table, and uses his hands to beckon the rest of the party to the dance floor. At first, Clarke and Lexa are a bit confused as to what to do next, referring to Robin with their eyes.

"Fuck it, might as well," she says as she downs her own drink and goes to join Steve. Clarke turns to Lexa, shrugs a bit, and does the same to her drink before getting up and joining them. Lexa wasn't going to be left alone at their booth.

They regroup at the beginning of the first chorus, with Steve already lending the entirety of his body and energy to it. Robin, Lexa, and Clarke had to settle themselves into it a bit, but they did eventually find their groove with it. There weren't a lot of other people joining them, and some of the patrons were giving Steve in particular mildly hostile glances, but that didn't bother any of them.

"ALL ALONE AT THE '64 WORLD'S FAIR, EIGHTY DOLLS YELLING 'SMALL GIRL AFTER ALL'" Steve belted along to the song as the rest of the party were a bit baffled with what they were witnessing.

"Does he get like this often?" Lexa leaned in to ask Robin.

"After a couple of drinks, yea, but this is early for him." She responded.

"There's no such thing as early with this band, Robs!" he responds across the circle they've created among themselves, and the last chorus of the song comes around, Steve starts to sing again.

"ANA NG AND I ARE GETTING OLD-"

"AND WE STILL HAVEN'T WALKED" Robin follows up, surprising him.

"IN THE GLOW" Lexa picks up where she left off.

"Of each other's," Clarke continued.

"MAJESTIC PRESENCE" they finished all at once, causing Steve to pull them in for one big group hug, with all of them laughing together.

"Alright, I'm gonna go outside for a smoke," Steve said as the mood winded down and the song changed, he didn't really recognize it. "Be back in a second."

There were a couple of other people right outside the bar like Steve was, and the street in front of them was generally quiet. He appreciated the fitting contrast between the energy inside the bar and the peacefulness of the outside. After sticking to a spot near the door, he gets out one of his American Spirits and pulls out his lighter. As he's tempering the flame with his cupped hand, he feels another person come up closer to him. Steve turns around to see that it's a young man about his age, wearing a thick denim jacket, a white band shirt, and deep black jeans.

"So you're pretty into They Might Be Giants, huh?" the young man asked.

"Maybe, who's asking?" Steve responded.

"Oh no one, I'm just the dude who requested that song."

"No shit? What made you wanna put on Ana Ng at a dive-bar in Manhattan?"

"Well, I just always loved that song, I think it has a lot to say."

"Yea, about Cold War geopolitics as a metaphor for relationships."

"So you've done your research." the young man said with a sly tone in his voice. "Why were you dancing to it like that if you knew what it was really about?"

"Because it goes hard as shit and I've been drinking, what else am I supposed to do."

"That's a very fair point," the young man says confidently, "the name's Jamie by the way." He reaches out his hand to Steve. "Jamie Larson."

"Steve Harrington" he replied as he shook his hand.

"Steve Harrington," Jamie said under his breath as he pulled his hand back, "well listen, Steve Harrington, I have to be somewhere right now, but how about I give you my number. We can talk more about this later."

Steve put his cigarette in between his left fingertips and nodded steadfastly in agreement. "That sounds great," he said as he went to take his phone out of his pocket in order to exchange information.

"Brilliant," Jamie said as he typed his number into Steve's cellphone, "see you later, Dr. Worm." He turned away from Steve and walked back out into the New York City night.

"Bye," Steve said back, though he was unsure if he had heard him. He turns back to face the street in front of him and finish his smoke, and only then it dawns on him that Jamie was hitting on him.

* * *

At around two in the morning, the four of them were walking back to Robin and Steve's dorm hall. Each of them had a second drink before they left, so their faculties were only slightly inhibited.

"Hey, I had a really great time tonight," Robin said to Lexa and Clarke, as they were walking in a pair next to her and Steve, "we should do this again sometime."

"Yeah, I agree, I had a great time too," Steve added in.

"Honestly to have some friends outside of work, I don't have a lot of those anymore," Lexa noted.

"It's also nice to have some new friends at all as well." Clarke chimed in, causing Lexa to laugh a bit. After some more walking, they reached the Meredith Wilson residence hall.

"And you sure you guys are good with going home alone? It's really late." Robin asked Lexa and Clarke as they stopped at the stairs leading up to the dorm hall.

"Yea, it's all good, we can get a cab," Lexa said. "We're the ones who live in Brooklyn."

They said their final goodbyes and hugged each other before Clarke and Lexa went down the curb to start hailing a taxi. Steve and Robin started to stumble up the stairs to their dorms. It was all good.

* * *

_steve created a group chat: four people who live in new york - 2:23 AM_

_steve added robin_

_steve added lexa_

_steve added clarke._


	11. The Broad Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> robin spends her sunday alone

The dorm hall cafeteria was a bright and mildly alienating splash of blue and steel. It wasn't the most horrible sight in the world, but it wasn't the most relaxing either, especially on only six hours of sleep. Walking into it, Robin felt as though she had just tried to go through a door that was just barely too small for her, and wasn't a good sign.

Breakfasts on Sundays consisted of two over-easy eggs, three bacon strips, and a pear for 12 dollars. A bit more costly than she would have, particularly since the eggs and bacon were of substandard quality, but it would do for now. She ate alone at one of the corner tables, as Steve liked to sleep in after going out for a night on the town. If she had woken him up, he would've felt even more groggy and shitty than she was feeling, so it was to leave him under the domain of the sandman. As she stared out on the streets below the window, she felt her phone vibrate in her back pocket.

_ four people who live in new york _

_ lexa: that's a very nondescript group chat name _

_ clarke: i guess steve's brain wasn't working at full capacity when he made it _

_ robin: it hardly ever is _

_ clarke: oop _

_ clarke: isn't he going to see that when he wakes up? _

_ robin: i've said worse to his face _

_ clarke: right then _

_ robin: btw now that i'm more sober i wanna tell you guys that i had a really great time last night!! it was super fun hanging out together _

_ clarke: i did too!! it was very nice getting to you _

_ lexa: i feel the same _

_ robin: that's nice to hear _

_ robin: anyway what are you guys doing on this fine sunday morning _

_ lexa: jackshit i'm still in bed _

_ lexa: i have to write something for work later but idc _

_ robin: you get homework at your job? _

_ lexa: yea i told you dude its _

_ lexa: bad _

_ robin: fdsjkhfdshf _

_ clarke: i'm making omelets!! _

_ lexa: thank u bby _

_ robin: culinary legend clarke griffin _

_ robin: an omelet sounds a lot better than what i'm eating right now, which 2 sad eggs, 3 sad strips of bacon, and one sad pear _

_ lexa: oof _

_ robin: anyway i'll finish my breakfast and talk to you two later, i wanna go on a walk today _

_ robin: see yah _

_ clarke: bye!! _

_ lexa: have fun _

* * *

_ steve: hey fuck you guys its a great name for a group chat _

* * *

Robin appreciated the lull of New York. In a place where up to 27 thousand people can occupy the square mile, the various noises and commotions that they produce all manage to blend into a single wall of sound, made of taxi drivers honking their horns and neighbours spewing profanity at each other over who's car is parked in the right spot. It gave her a sense of stability and rhythm, this fundamental layer of life. She thought it would be a good idea to simply walk north on Broadway until she got tired and took the subway back to Lincoln Plaza. There wasn't work pending on her end, so it was as good a use of her time as any.

The first thing she notices is an elderly man playing the trumpet at the corner of Amsterdam and 68th, the song he was playing sounded like an old blues tune penned before her parents were born. The man's demeanor was fitting for it as well. From even a cursory glance of his features, he could tell this was a soul who had weathered crisis upon crisis. His hair had settled on his head in its most natural fashion. His eyes were totally closed, as he let his sound flow from the very core of his being. It was as if he was extracted directly from a Norman Rockwell painting.

What struck Robin most of all, however, was how everyone passed him by. Men in suits talking both to themselves and to someone else, children playing in the street, a group of nuns, they all acted as if the man was not there. As if the music wasn't there. 

And yet he still played on. 

Like the sun rising up on desolate earth.

Without saying anything, Robin went up to his open trumpet case and left two dollars. It wasn't much, but in her eyes, it was her way of showing that she heard him.

Once she actually got on Broadway, the true scale of New York City became apparent to her, probably for the first time since she got off the bus at the Port Authority with Steve. For the past 50 years at least, New York has been the capital of the world. Its promise of wealth and metropolitan life has been a cornerstone of Americanism, drawing life from every corner of the globe. It was a great departure from the world she had known back in Hawkins, but she didn't really know what to make of it. In her mind, it was a lot like when her parents brought her to Lake Michigan one time in her childhood. It was the first time she had since a body of water that large, and even though she wanted to swim, the expanse of the lake greatly startled her. It was something about how the water met the horizon line, and how she couldn't comprehend how deep it was. The streets of New York gave her the same sense of unfamiliarity and intimidation. To her, it seemed as though the city was a great nexus of various contractions, and she didn't know how to settle them.

As she was beginning to consider turning around and returning to the dormitories in order to get some vocal practice out of the way, she was stopped in her place by a woman not much older than her. She seemed to be in a great amount of distress, taking sharp glances at either side of her. She begins pleading to Robin in Spanish.

"You've got to help me! I lost my six-year daughter around this block! Please!"

Robin wasn't sure why she had gone to her for this, but the woman appeared well and truly desperate for any kind of assistance, so she took it upon herself to respond.

"Where was the last place you saw her and what's her name?" Robin asked her in the same tongue, with the best accent and intonation four years of High School Spanish class and Duolingo could give her.

"Over by the corner that way," the mother pointed behind her, "and her name is Claudia."

"Well, let's see if she's back there, she couldn't have gotten far."

The mother nodded and they began to speed by the people walking in the direction opposite theirs. Robin kept her eye peeled for an unattended little girl, but none appeared in her sight. By the time they got to the corner, she had noticed that the store placed there had its door opened wide, as well as having candy placed prominently out front. 

"Do you Claudia could have gone in there?" she asked the mother.

"Maybe, let's check."

They had stepped into the small bodega, already crying out Claudia’s name and looking around to spot her. After a few moments, her mother spotted her, eyeing some chocolate bars. She ran up to her, crouched down, put her on shoulders, and made Claudia face her eyes.

"Mija!" she yelled at her, not in rage or frustration, but in security. "Never leave my sight like that ever again, do you understand me!"

"I'm sorry, Mami, I wanted to see what they had in the store," Claudia said with a tinge of sadness in her voice. It reminded Robin a lot of how her own mother treated her at age, though she was never one to run off away from her parents.

"It's okay baby," the mother continued, "just don't ever do it again, you understand me?". Claudia's mother pulled her in for a hug, which she held for about thirty seconds before turning back to Robin.

"Thank you for helping me find her, I know it must have been very startling for you to have seen me like that, I was really scared."

"Oh it's no problem at all," Robin said back, "I can't imagine what it must be like to think your kid has gone missing." She noticed that Claudia had gone back to looking at the chocolate bars, and that gave her an idea. "Do you want some chocolate, Claudia?".

Claudia looked up at Robin with the kind of smile we're only really capable of making when we're children and nodded rapidly.

As the three of them sat on a curb, each with their own bar of chocolate, Robin started to settle down again. Her walkabout had gone on a bit longer than she had anticipated, but it was for a good greater than her. Claudia and mother sat beside her, and as the girl was eating her dessert in peace, her mother got closer to Robin.

"Hey, I just wanted to thank you again for helping me. You were the first person I saw and I was desperate. I'm really lucky that you were able to speak Spanish. Are you by any chance Latin?"

"No, not at all, I just took it in school. My teachers weren't the best in the world but I've always had an understanding of languages, I feel like I can pick them up more easily."

"That's a good skill to have." The mother said as she nodded and looked down.

"And hey," Robin went on, "I don't think I ever caught your name."

The mother made a similar realization in her mind when she heard that, "I don't think I got yours either. My name is Maria. What's yours?"

"Robin," she responded.

"Oh, like in Batman!"

Robin smiled softly to herself, "Yea, like in Batman."

After taking a moment to attend to Claudia, Maria stared into the street in front of them with an almost blank expression, and she looked down at her shoes as she started to speak to Robin once again.

"You know," she began with what Robin could only sense as a light shame, "I think you might actually be the first person I've met in New York."

"Oh, you haven't been here for long?" she asked with a tempered inquisitiveness.

"Yea, we moved here from San Juan about a month ago. Her dad has been out of the picture for a while and I couldn't find any work, so I thought we could take our chances on the mainland."

"My God, that sounds incredibly stressful Maria, I'm sorry," Robin said as she placed her hand gently on Maria's shoulder blade.

"I mean, there's been a lot of bad days, I'm not going to lie to you, but there's been a lot of good ones too." She turned to face Claudia, still absent-mindedly eating her chocolate bar, indifferent to the movements of the world around her, "And I do it all for her. As long as I have Claudia, nothing is too hard."

Robin felt the beginning of the urge to cry build-up at the bottom of her stomach, but she was able to repress it. She wasn't witnessing something sad or pitiful, she was witnessing an unbreakable bond between a mother and her daughter, and which she wished there was more of in the world.

"How about I give you my number," she told Maria.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's just that I just moved here too, so there's a part of me which understands what you're going through right now, and which understands that you need as many people on your side as possible." she extended her hand out as a request for Maria's phone, and began to program in her number. "If you need any help at all, with anything, please don't hesitate to talk to me."

"Thank you for this Robin, but it's really not necessary, I'm sure you have your own things to deal with, I wouldn't want to be a burden on your time."

"No, no, I insist," she assured her. "Coming to this city has been a difficult enough experience for me, and I'm not the one who has to look after a kid."

Maria nodded softly to herself as she took in what she was saying, "Thank you, Robin, that means a lot to me, you're very kind."

"No need to mention it," she responded with a smile aimed towards her.

They ate the rest of their candy in silence, as the world sped on around them. 


	12. Papers and Permissions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clarke talks to someone about her status

Clarke was focused on the clock above her in the Immigration office waiting room. It was one of those models which represented the platonic ideal of a clock: black numbers and dials, a white background, a gold rim, and a low tick for every minute that passed. It was functional and sterile in a way that managed to bring her feelings of both comfort and discomfort. The entire room gave her that feeling, in fact. The tiles were coated in the mildest grey paint, a water cooler sat idly in a corner, bubbling sporadically, and the chair she was sat on managed to coalesce around her posture as if it had a mind of its own. It was a space outside of time, outside of any external influence, like a long-extinct bug shielded in amber, ten thousand leagues under the earth. And Clarke wasn't much helped by the fact that she was the only one there. Granted, that probably hastened the process, but it left her alone with her thoughts a little bit longer than she would have liked.

This pondering was broken immediately by the opening of the door adjacent to the water cooler. Out of it emerged a young woman, not much older than Clarke herself. She was dressed in a manner which was adequate for the sort of official and bureaucratic work she was in, and she peeked out of the door, she scanned the room horizontally before seeing that Clarke was sitting by herself to the side.

"Clarke Griffin, I assume?" she asked upon spotting her.

"Yes, that's me," she responded as she began getting out of her seat in order to pick up her documents.

"Come in my office, I'll help you look over your case," she said as she went back into her office, letting the door close in front of her. Clarke managed to pull it back open before it closed and took a seat in front of her. Her workspace wasn't much bigger than a cubicle, really only capable of fitting her and one other person in at the same time. She had a desktop computer, a shelf filled with binders and books, pictures of people Clarke assumed to be relatives or loved ones, and a degree in Social Policy from New York University. It was made out to one Raven Reyes.

"So," she said with a slightly higher pitch as she turned to Clarke, "what can I help you with today?"

"Right, well," Clarke started, taking out her immigration and travel documents and setting them out in front of her, "I was wondering what my work situation looks like under the conditions I'm in. I got here about a month ago with the ESTA program, and I have some savings set aside, but if I'm gonna be living here long-term I'm going to need a job."

Raven began to peruse over Clarke's documents as she dedicated her question, taking note of different ID numbers and signatures. "Yea, a lot of people come to us with those sorts of concerns," she said while flipping over papers and entering data into her computer, "but if you're under an ESTA visa-waiver, you're in a relatively good position."

"Oh, is that so?" Clarke asked with piqued interest.

"Yea, so it used to be that if you wanted to work here as an immigrant you had to apply for a work visa of some kind and sort that out with your employer, but since last year, people under ESTA visa waivers can be employed in a limited capacity. The biggest difference is that you are only allowed to work for 40 hours every week and for a maximum wage of 100 dollars an hour. There's a lot of other asterisks and smaller rules to it, but it's best to ask your eventual employer about those." She started to pass some of the papers Clarke gave back to her absent-mindedly, letting her muscle memory take over that part of her functions.

"Well, that's good to know. That wasn't really made clear when I was filling out my application." 

"That's just the speed of government really. It's relatively new legislation, and most people who apply for the visa waiver only come here for pleasure or tourism.

"I see, and what should I do when the ESTA gets close to expiring next year?"

Raven raised her left eyebrow as she asked that question, "How much time do you expect to spend in the United States exactly?"

"More than a year," Clarke responded, worried that she was about to uncover a problem she wasn't expecting to run into.

"Oh well, in that case, you'll be able to apply for a longer-term work visa once your ESTA expiry date is 4 months away. You'll have to be employed at the time of making your application, and since you're an Australian citizen you'll most likely get the E-3 visa."

"Great, great, that's good to know." Clarke started to put some of her papers back into her bag. "Oh, and what's the rule on freelance work, or self-employment?"

"What kind of freelance work would you be engaged in?"

"Well, I'm an artist, and back in Australia, I would sometimes take commissions and requests and things of that sort, especially when the weather was a bit grey if you catch my meaning." Although she had only known her for a grand total of about 12 minutes, Clarke felt like she could confide in Raven.

"Oh okay, well the rules for that kind of freelance work are a bit undefined. There's nothing that explicitly prevents you from engaging in that sort of labor, but you'd have to pay the right taxes and such. You should consult a tax professional if you have any specific concerns about that."

"Right then, thank you very much." Clarke began to ready herself for leaving the office. "I think that's all I'll be needing for now."

Raven gave a small nod and smile as Clarke got out of her seat, "Very well if you have any other concerns please feel free to call us or book another appointment."

They exchanged their polite goodbyes before Clarke stepped out of the office and Raven went back to her own work.

* * *

As Clarke walked up to her apartment door, she could hear a song playing faintly from behind it. From what she could pick up, it sounded like the song  _ Ohio  _ by Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness. Over the years that they had spent in long-distance, Clarke's library began to populate itself with artists who sang of jumping into the world, and the way that love can manifest itself in strange places. Lexa had a habit of making liberal use of her sick days, and today was one of those days. She was still asleep in their bed when Clarke had left for her errand earlier that morning.

When she opened the door, Lexa was bobbing her head along to the music and vacuuming the living room. She was still in her pajamas from the night before, her hair still the unkempt mess Clarke played with before falling asleep in her arms. Lexa was into it as well, as Clarke stood by the door for at least 30 seconds before she ended up noticing her.

"Oh shit," Lexa said as she got her phone out of her pocket and put the music on pause, "how's it going, how did the thing with immigration go?"

"It went great," Clarke responded as she laughed a bit mirthlessly at how she had caught Lexa. "She helped me clear a lot of things up, a very lovely person really."

"Clarke." Lexa looked at her questioningly. "Should I be jealous?" she asked jokingly.

"You should always be jealous of me, as I'm so much cooler than you," Clarke responded with the same sense of self-awareness and parody in her voice. Lexa lets out a genuine laugh at that. "Oh, and I brought Chinese food if you hadn't noticed," Clarke said as she held a brown and slightly stained bag up in front of her face.

"Oh, I had noticed it, thank you," Lexa set the vacuum down and started walking towards their kitchen, "it's just that I think you're more important than Brooklyn Chinese food."

"How sweet of you," Clarke responded with a knowing grin. "I got you extra dumplings by the way."

Lexa placed her right hand at the center of her chest and sighed as if she was seeing a particularly picturesque stretch of the Atlantic coast, "You know me so well."

They both sat down to enjoy their food, talking about nothing and everything at the same time.


	13. Reiki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steve makes a call

There's no action in the entire world which brings Steve more uncertainty and insecurity than preparing to call a newly acquired phone number. That isn't to mean that this was a new experience for him, Steve had gone through a litany of dates and infatuations in high school, but the first move never got easier for him. There was always the threat of a voice mail message, or an "Oh, sorry, I'm busy this weekend", and it would leave him beaten down. On some level, Steve knew this was an outsized reaction, and that one closed off the romantic path in this life wasn't the end of the world, but that acknowledgment didn't make the endeavor any less daunting in his eyes. 

As always, however, he would eventually swallow his fears and punch in the number of whomever he was calling that day, and he would wait for them to pick up. The dull of the ringing from the other line seemed to drag on forever, like an elevator descending directly to hell. It wasn't too early of an hour, but Jamie could be in class, or out on a run of some kind, or he could be tending to a garden he ha-

"Hello?" a voice on the other line greeted and asked.

"Jamie! Hey! It's Steve, from the bar the other night, do you remember me?" Steve tried to hide his nervous energy under a layer of friendliness and nonchalance and prayed to God that it was strong enough to serve its function. 

"Oh, yeah, particle man, how's it going? You're up early," Jamie said back with a slight amount of grog and slowness in his voice as if he was being awoken from a restful bout of sleep.

"I am? It's like 10 in the morning."

"Yeah, on a Monday I don't have class in, it might as well be 5 am." 

"Haha, yeah," Steve chuckled nervously, letting a small pause pass before speaking again. "Anyway, I've been wondering how you've been."

"Since Friday night? I've been great, dude, definitely not waiting for two bottles of vodka to make their way through my system right now."

"Sounds like you had a wild time then."

"That's certainly one way to put it."

Steve had enjoyed speaking to Jamie for the short time he had been doing so, but he could feel himself beating around the real reason for his communication.

"So listen," he began, "I was wondering if you wanted to go for a cup of coffee sometime."

"Oh?" Jamie said in response, a coat of intrigue splashed atop his voice, "and what made you want to invite me out?"

"Well, it's just that- like- I- I thought that you seemed kinda cool, y'know? You seem like a cool person to be around."

"Oh well, thank you, I appreciate that." 

"No problem." Steve could hear the drowning music from _Sonic 2_ play at the back of his mind, only growing stronger for every millisecond that passed without Jamie saying anything.

"Would you be free this afternoon?" he asked.

"This afternoon? Yeah, I think that would be alright, I have class tomorrow morning, but it should be fine." Steve responded.

"Great, I'll see you at like 5 then?"

"Yeah, 5 works! I'll see you then."

"See ya," Jamie said softly into the phone as he hung up on Steve. After placing his phone down on the table in front of him, he immediately jumps out towards his closet in order to pick out an outfit.

* * *

They had elaborated on the precise location of their rendezvous over some text messages, and they had chosen a small coffee shop halfway between them. Steve was the first to arrive, clad in a white wool sweater, deep green overalls, and a beanie Robin had gotten him for Christmas the year before. He stood on the corner adjacent to the shop for about 20 minutes, each one feeling longer and longer than the one before. In order to distract himself from the possibility of being stood up, he started taking note of the other people who were passing by him. Every single one of them had a life, friends, interests, and points of struggle. Collectively, their stories could fill a space greater than the most expansive libraries, and the most verbose records. At the same time, however, they were only minute silvers of his own life, and he knew that he held a similar position in theirs. It was likely that he was never going to see these people again, and the elaboration of that idea caused him to retreat solely into himself, like a great oak becoming dormant for the winter. After some time, he felt a hand clash against his shoulder. It was Jamie. His outfit was very similar to Steve's own, and yet he thought it looked infinitely better on him. Maybe it was a case of the grass being greener on the side.

"Hey!" Jaime exclaimed as he pulled Steve in for a hug, "I hope I didn't keep you waiting long, there was a hold-up on the subway."

Steve shrugged off Jamie's worries by scoffing and waving his hands around the air, "Oh, don't worry about that, it's nothing." He turned back to look into the coffee shop, before turning back to face Jamie. "So, do you wanna go in?"

"Let's do it, I'm exhausted."

* * *

Steve ordered a cappuccino, a preference he inherited from his father. It was secure and straight-forward, and in that way, the beverage stood in great contrast to Steve. Jamie ordered a hot chocolate, in a move that Steve could only read as a way to lean into the upcoming festivities. He never really knew what to make of the wintertime. He enjoyed the snow, and the food, and the gifts, but he also knew it came with a legion of relatives he didn't really want to see, and a plethora of questions he didn't want to have asked of him. Maybe New York would be different, however, Maybe he would be different.

"So," Jamie started as he put down his cup on the conclusion of a sip, "where do you go to school?"

"I'm doing a bachelor of music at Julliard, focused on percussion mostly."

Jamie seemed pleasantly surprised, "Julliard? That application process must have been hell in a handbasket, dude."

Steve laughed quietly to himself and ran his hands through his hair, "Yeah, it was."

"You should let me hear you play sometime, Dr. Worm. How big's your drumset?"

"8 pieces and I never told you I played drums," Steve said with an inquisitive tone in his voice.

"You have the vibe of a drummer hovering you, and you've been tapping your foot at a 4/4 beat since we sat down."

As Jamie, Steve realized that he was in fact tapping his foot, and put an immediate cease to it. His face was like a deer caught in the headlights of an 18-wheel truck. "Shit, sorry." He apologized, "It's just one of those things I do involuntarily sometimes, y'know?"

"Don't worry, I wasn't bothered by it," Jamie responded.

Steve laughed again as he took a sip of his drink. "Also," he began after setting his cup down in front of him, "are you a musician too? You gave me the time signature for how often I was tapping my feet."

"Well, music is more of a hobby for me than anything," Jamie said with an air of humility in his throat. "I'm studying history at NYU, but I was in a couple of bands in high school."

"No shit," Steve said as he nodded. "I never got to be in a band growing, seemed like a cool experience though."

Jamie raised his right eyebrow slightly at that statement, "You've never been in a band? There weren't any other kids interested in music around you?"

"Well, my best friend Robin sang, but I grew up in a small town in Indiana, and we were the only two people who had a significant amount of interest in music." Steve took another sip of his drink, this one shorter than the others. "Plus, we didn't get to know each other until later on, so."

"Ah, I see," Jamie said as he leaned back into his chair and looked up to the ceiling. "I have a cousin in Indianapolis, I think, I should call him sometime."

"I never really spent much time in Indianapolis, but I've heard good things," Steve said a bit indistinctly. "What about you, where are you from?"

"I was born in southern Maine, but my parents came over here from Hokkaido, in Japan."

"Oh okay, and what brought them to Maine?"

"They're both fisher people, so that's what brought food to the table when I was growing up." Jamie looked slightly off to the side, Steve could almost see the film reel of memories playing in his head. "Maine reminded them a lot of Hokkaido, actually."

"Yeah, I can imagine."

"You're familiar with the area?"

Upon his asking, a mildly embarrassed look popped up on Steve's face. "If I'm being 100% real with you, I had a little bit of an obsession with Japan in like, elementary and middle school."

Jamie starts laughing upon hearing that tidbit about Steve's childhood, which prompts a decent amount of confusion in Steve.

"What? What's so funny?" He asked, just short of demanding an answer.

"Nothing it's just," Jamie took a moment to collect himself, "I hadn't pegged you as a weeb."

Steve was taken aback by this assessment, taking a moment to turn to his surroundings and then back to Jamie. "I'm not a weeb!" he whisper-shouted at Jamie, making him laugh even more. "I just thought Tokyo looked cool! And I liked eating sushi!", by this point, Jamie was almost uncontrollable in his laughter, so much so that Steve began to laugh along with him for a minute. They both settled down by taking deep breathes.

"Also," Steve began as he collected himself, "if both your parents came from Japan, why is your last name Larson?"

"Dad changed it when they moved here, thought it would help them integrate better."

"Oh shit." Steve felt a moderate but consistent feeling of disappointment at the implications of that. "What's your original surname then, if I can ask?"

"Kikue," Jamie responded. "And my mother called me Hitoshi at home."

"Hitoshi Kikue," Steve said to himself, as a means of trying the name out. "It’s nice to meet you, Hitoshi."

"Likewise," Jamie said, with an appreciative smile growing on his face.


	14. Whispered Offers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one of lexa's coworkers makes a proposition

Where would the world be if it wasn't for the coffee bean? This infinitesimally small capsule of proteins, amino acids, and carbohydrates, only grown between the tropics of Cancer and Capricorn, fuels the capacities of literally billions of people every day. Wars and struggles have been fought over its cultivation, and aside from oil, it is probably the second most important economic metronome in human history. It is a testament to the lengths humanity is willing to go to in order to bend the natural world to its will, and this particular cup that Lexa was drinking tasted of dogshit.

Its flavour wasn't of much consequence, though. What it needed to do above all else was give her the strength to finish writing an article discussing the ethical implications of adopting a freegan diet, for God knows nothing else will lend her such a thing at 9 in the morning on a Tuesday. Although it was still early in the workweek, she was already halfway done with her quota. Lexa occasionally found moments like this with her work, in that she can sometimes silence her creative objections and simply get the output done. This simultaneously put her at ease and terrified her.

She was putting the finishing touches on her third paragraph when someone had suddenly unplugged her earbuds from their port. Enraged, she quickly turned her head to take note of who had committed such an egregious offense upon her person, only to see that it was her coworker Jane, who looked into Lexa's eyes with a sense of intrigue.

"What the fuck, dude, you cut off the chorus to Golden. There better be a good reason for this." Lexa said sternly as she took her earbuds out of her ears and set them in front of her in one swift motion.

"That song barely has a chorus," Jane responded with a scoff.

"Don't try me right now Jane, what do you want." 

"Right, so," Jane leaned in closer to address her, causing Lexa to smell the 15$ pharmacy perfume she had gotten her for Secret Santa last year, "you know how you're always talking about doing more investigative writing?"

"Yeah, that would help me get off these fucking exercise balls."

That remark caused Jane to expel a slight amount of air from her nose in amusement. "Well, some friends of mine are starting a side gig of sorts. It's an online magazine, somewhere between MAD and Hunter S. Thompson, we're calling it The Underbelly."

"You still remember MAD magazine? How old are you?" Lexa asked, still not entirely convinced of Jane's pitch.

"Let me finish, you fetus," Jane responded as a way to deflect Lexa's playful insult. "We want to look into the  _ weird  _ shit that goes on in this city, and relay it to the rest of the world, really taking journalism back to its roots."

Although she wasn't about to quit her real job for this unproven idea, Jane had managed to capture her interest. Lexa was silently nodding along. 

"Now, we won't be able to compensate you very generously for your writing, but we are beginning to traction, and the trend seems to be going in the right direction." 

"And what would I be doing?" Lexa asked.

"Well, there's talk of a bar in Brooklyn. Password protected, unmarked in any of the mapping services, and they make you withdraw your phone at the entrance so you can't record or photograph anything inside. I want you to do an expose on it."

"And how am I gonna do that with no way of documenting anything inside the place?"

Jane then pulled out a small brown case and opened it to reveal a pair of white glasses. Interestingly, Lexa couldn't see her reflection in them.

"There's a camera in this," Jane said with a look of mischief and conspiracy in her eyes.

"Oh is there?" Lexa asked as she took the case from Jane and inspected it. "So I suppose I'll have to wear them inside?"

"Yeah, you just tap it on the side there to start recording." Jane pointed to the left hinge of the pair of glasses, which had a very slight bump on them.

"Right then," Lexa nodded as she tucked the glasses into the depths of her backpack, "So you want me to infiltrate this club and write about what goes on in there?"

"That's the long and short of it, yea."

"Well if it's that or having to write yet fucking quiz for the website, I'll take you up on your offer. I'll go there on Saturday, give you the finished product by Monday."

"Great, great, that's good to know," Jane said as she started to turn back and face her own computer.

"Actually," Lexa shot back up, "you said the club was password-protected, do you know what it is?"

"They have a rotating system, but the password for Saturdays is Lentus."

"Understood thank you," Lexa said as she plugged her earbuds back in and continued with her official labor.


End file.
